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1907 
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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE PEARL 



THE PEARL 






AN ANONYMOUS ENGLISH POEM 
OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY 

RENDERED IN PROSE BY 

CHARLES G. OSGOOD, JR., PH.D. 

. PRECEPTOR IN ENGLISH 

IN PRINCETON 

UNIVERSITY 



1907 



. ft »* 



Two G- 
AS& d_' XXC., No, 

■ 



Her gracious beauty, from our sight 
Transported far, on high is beaming now 
With spiritual radiance so divine, 
That all the heaven doth shine 
With love's own light, to which the angels bow, 
Wondering with their calm eyes profound and clear, 
To see such gentle grace sprung from our mortal sphere. 

— Dante, New Life, 

Translated by Theodore Martin. 



PREFACE 

In preparing this version of the Pearl, I have 
tried to save as much as I could of the ori- 
ginal, both in letter and in spirit, in detail 
and in larger effect, avoiding as much as 
possible an affectation of false quaintness 
that often mars the interpretation of such a 
text. The music of the poem — almost its 
finest charm — cannot awaken even a faint 
echo in a tongue whose pitch and quality 
have been so altered by time. Yet its melody 
may in some measure be reproduced by any 
one who will take the trouble of a littie prac- 
tice in reading the Middle English aloud. 

In text and interpretation my edition of 
the poem has been the basis of this render- 
ing. The design on the cover is adapted 
from illuminated letters in the unique manu- 
script at the British Museum, photographic 
vii 



PREFACE 

reproductions of which may be seen in the 
university libraries at Princeton and Yale. 

To my friend and colleague, Professor 
John Duncan Spaeth, I am indebted for a 
minute examination of my rendering; his 
good taste and scholarship have given inval- 
uable help in the task of revision. Professor 
Lane Cooper has very kindly read the proof. 

C.G. 0.,Jr. 

Princeton University, 
March 19, 1907. 



INTRODUCTION 

The Pearl, whatever its faults, is full of 
beauty in form and spirit. At first reading, 
the course of the poem is likely to seem in- 
terrupted with dull digressions, out of pro- 
portion to the rest. But, if it is viewed as a 
whole, its various parts sink into a right and 
helpful relation to each other. First, there 
sounds prophetically, but faintly, the note 
of peace and triumph which later brings the 
poem to its final cadence. Then begins the 
prelude, wherein is shown the agonizing 
conflict of grief and doubt that raged in 
the poet's heart after the loss of his Pearl. 
Through the deep sleep that at length comes 
to his exhausted body and soul the poem 
issues into the first of its three great phases. 
The poet is almost dazed with the bright- 
ness of the strange land in which he awakes; 
ix 



INTRODUCTION 

gradually his mind begins to comprehend its 
surroundings, and he starts to range among 
the endless beauties of the place ; more and 
more eagerly he goes forward, until at the 
shining brink of Paradise he pauses, strain- 
ing his heart after the joys of the fairer land 
beyond. And here, without warning, his 
eyes fall upon his Pearl in all the bright 
glory of the heavenly life, yet sweet and 
maidenly in her graciousness towards him. 
A moment of humbled embarrassment, then 
of ecstatic joy, and he thinks : ' Here is the 
solution of all my troubles ; there is nothing 
left to dread, and everything to enjoy in this 
dearest of all companionships. ' And he cries 
aloud to her in anticipation. 

But tenderly and gravely she rebukes 
him ; such delights go not with his condition 
of sin and mortality. At once the old war in 
his soul springs up with new fury. ' God is 



INTRODUCTION 

unfair. There is nothing but misery in the 
world for me and all men. I cannot endure 
it ! ' Then more like a mother than a child, 
mingling transcendent pity with sternness, 
as did Beatrice when she melted the soul of 
her lover to contrition and obedience, the 
Pearl shows this sorrow-broken man how 
his trouble may become not an instrument 
of self-destruction, such as he is making it, 
but the very voice of God, quieting his soul, 
and revealing to him the vision of endless 
peace. 

6 And what,' he asks, 'is the nature of 
that peace which she has found? ' First, she 
explains, it lies in the acceptance of God's 
way as not only inevitable, but kindest and 
best. Second, in unfailing gratitude for his 
goodness as a friend. Third, in utter free- 
dom from the spirit of selfish competition, 
that we may enjoy pure delight in the 
xi 



INTRODUCTION 

happiness of our fellows. But all this is in- 
comprehensible to one whose emotional ex- 
periences have been self-centred, and whose 
habit of mind, owing to his scholastic train- 
ing, has been, after the manner of his times, 
formal and rationalistic. The maiden at first, 
therefore, concedes somewhat to his demand 
for logical proof; but with every point and 
sentence she mingles suggestions of feeling 
and Tightness of heart, which slowly and 
subtly convince him, as he listens to her de- 
scription of the blessed life. Less and less 
resistant, and more and more eager his 
questions become, until, at last, the need of 
question, and proof, and sympathy, is done 
away, and he is ready to behold with his 
own eyes the Beatific Vision. 

In the glory that then bursts upon his 
sight he hardly misses his Pearl, who has 
now withdrawn from him. Before him un- 
xii 



INTRODUCTION 

fold in order the splendors of the Heavenly 
City, surpassing in beauty and number the 
imagination of man, and beyond the power 
of his unaided sense to receive. Then, as 
in the earlier part of his dream all the joys 
of the Earthly Paradise were consummate 
in the visitation of the Pearl, so here through 
the higher glories of the Heavenly Paradise 
the poem rises to the apotheosis of the re- 
deemed, of Christ the Lamb that was slain, 
and of his Bride rejoicing with perfect joy. 
Unutterable then the brightness, the purity, 
the adoration, the far-reaching sound of 
angels' song; ineffable the tenderness, the 
pity, the triumph of Christ himself; for ever 
happy and secure the Pearl in the fullness 
of eternal life. Beside himself with ecstasy, 
driven by one last selfish impulse, the poet 
forgets for an instant all that his visitant has 
taught him, and tries with hasty force to 
xiii 



INTRODUCTION 

seize more than God has given him. A sud- 
den shock of blindness and insensibility, and 
he gropes slowly back to his earthly life. 

For a moment he finds himself in the 
midst of his old sorrow, but only for a mo- 
ment. Through his experience of the vision 
he has been born into a new life of peace, 
and service, and patient looking- forward to 
the dear and unbroken companionship that 
awaits him in the life to come. 

In many ways the Pearl is like one of the 
old churches of its time. The lines of its 
structure are simple, direct, and perceptible. 
Part is closely related to part ; there is rise, 
climax, and fall ; and all parts unite in the 
consistent setting-forth of a single idea and 
emotion. 

But lest its structure be too apparent, its 
lines too severe, its unity too uncompromis- 
ing, it is overgrown and softened with a pro- 
xiv 



INTRODUCTION 

fusion of beauties in detail — leaves, flowers, 
fruit, birds, jewels, landscape, parables, 
pictures, and the splendors of the Apoca- 
lypse, wrought in living form and luminous 
color. Sometimes they are heaped up in ex- 
cess, and threaten to hide the main purpose 
of the poem with their luxuriance ; again 
they subside, and the mind is left free to 
contemplate the sublimer and more austere 
aspects of the theme. 

Then one may pass beyond the imme- 
diate charm and emotion of the poem, and 
look far along receding vistas of the ages out 
of which it has grown. Its form is the form 
that these ages have elaborated with slow 
toil and experiment ; its beauties are drawn 
from their rich and long-accumulated store ; 
its thought was conceived and proved by 
their bitter struggle, its feeling enriched 
by their deep and manifold experience, its 
xv 



INTRODUCTION 

triumphant vision made real and glorified in 
the blood of martyrs and saints. Thus one 
is drawn back through light and shade, 
through arch after arch of time, each grow- 
ing more dim and withdrawn, until all loses 
itself in the pure orient light from which it 
first came. 

Nor is the Pearl without traits of harsh 
austerity. Stern and awful are the concep- 
tions of God's justice and power that under- 
lie the work. Besides, it opens shadowed 
recesses of a struggling soul, unpenetrated 
with light of heaven, and dismal with the 
echoes of a bootless plaint. Here and there, 
out of the gloom, grins the hideous face of 
some past sin, some nameless fear, of depres- 
sion, loneliness, and despair. Then comes a 
stillness, and, after a space, there steals into 
this dark solitude the sound of sweet uplifted 
voices, as from a great distance. Then the 
xvi 



INTRODUCTION 

mind is quieted, and led slowly out of itself 
into the light, groping and reaching for- 
ward, humbled, eager, raising itself higher 
and higher, to look at last with opened eyes 
upon the vision of sacrifice, and love, and 
purity of them that dwell in the Kingdom 
of Heaven. 



THE PEARL 

O PEARL, delight of Christ the Prince ; 
now safe, afar, in his clear regions of 
pure shining gold ! 

Truly no pearl of the Orient have I ever 
found her peer in price — so round and ra- 
diant and unchanging, so tender and slight 
of form. At all times when I have appraised 
bright gems, her I have set apart and alone. 
But alas, one day I lost her; in an arbor 
it was that she slipped from me, and fell 
through the grass into the ground; and 
now, as with a death- wound, I pine away in 
the thrall of longing for the spotless Pearl 
that was mine. Often, since there she sprang 
from my reach, I have lingered in that place, 
yearning for the happiness that erstwhile 
was wont to banish my troubles and exalt 
my blessed lot; her absence pierces my heart 
1 



18-33 

continually, and makes my breast ever swell 
and burn in wretchedness. 

But never seemed to me any song so sweet 
as that which, on a day, in a quiet season, 
came stealing upon me. Truly, one after an- 
other, sad feelings welled up in my heart, 
as I sat thinking of her bright color now 
clad in clay. O earth, thou marrest a lovely 
jewel — the Pearl that was spotless, and 
mine own ! 

Many a plant of spice must needs spring 
and spread its leaves where such riches have 
fallen to decay; flowers, yellow, and blue, 
and red, there turn their faces all bright and 
shining towards the sun ; no flower or fruit 
can wither in that place, since my Pearl there 
sank into the dark of the mold. Each spear 
of grass springs from a lifeless seed, or else 
there were no wheat to be gathered into 
barns; of good ever each good cometh. 
2 



34-51 

Surely then from so fair a seed sweet spices 
cannot fail to spring and grow — from that 
precious Pearl so pure. 

Into this place of which I speak — this 
arbor green — I had gone one day, after my 
wont. It was a high season in August, 1 
when corn is cut with sickles keen. There 
was a mound in the place where the Pearl 
had fallen and rolled away from me ; upon 
it fell shadows of flowers bright and sheen 
— gilliflower, ginger, and gromwell, with 
peonies scattered all about. And if the sight 
was fair to behold, sweet too was the fra- 
grance which rose thence, where dwells, as I 
think, that adorable one, my precious, spot- 
less Pearl. 

Before that place I wrung my hands in 
the clutches of freezing care. A sudden din 

1 Probably the feast of the Assumption on the fif- 
teenth of the month. 

3 



52-68 

of grief rose in my heart, though reason 
tried to make peace therein. Wild forebod- 
ings warred fiercely within my soul, and I 
wailed aloud for my Pearl that was fast im- 
prisoned in that place: and, though Christ 
in his true compassion comforted me, yet 
my wretched will toiled on in woe. At last I 
fell upon the flowery turf, when suddenly 
such sweet fragrance entered and filled my 
brain that I sank into deep slumber, and 
dreamed of my precious Pearl so pure. 

Thence sprang my soul aloft while my 
body lay at the grave-mound in dreams. 
For in God's grace my soul set forth on a 
strange journey to behold marvels. I knew 
not where in the world it was ; I only saw that 
I was brought into a place where great cliffs 
stood cleaving together. Toward a forest I 
took my way, where were seen rocks of rich- 
4 



69-90 

est hue. The light — the gleaming glory that 
flashed from them might no man believe; 
no fabric woven by men was ever half so 
bright and rare. All the hillsides thereabout 
were adorned with cliffs of clearest crystal, 
and among them were shining groves with 
boles as blue as inde. Like burnished silver 
were the shifting leaves, quivering unnum- 
bered on every branch, as gleams fell upon 
them from the sky ; with splendid shimmer 
all bright they shone. The gravel under foot 
was precious orient pearl. Ah, dim and dark 
are the very sun's beams beside all that 
splendor ! 

The glory of those fair hills made my 
spirit forget all its woe; so fresh were the 
odors from the fruits growing there that 
they fully satisfied me, as it had been sweet 
food. Birds of flaming colors, large and 
small, flew about in the woodland there; but 

5 



91-109 

string of citole, or cithern-player, could ill 
counterfeit their lively notes, as with flutter- 
ing wings they sang together in sweet ac- 
cord. Such joyous rapture could no man 
attain as to hear their lovely song, and see 
their bright array. 

In like glory shone all that woodland 
whithersoever fortune led me; no man that 
beareth tongue is worthy to tell the glory 
thereof. I walked on and on with untroubled 
mind ; no hillside was so steep and high as 
to threaten me with harm. The farther I 
went through this woodland, the fairer grew 
meadows and plants, spice-trees and pear- 
trees, hedges and borders of brooks, and 
bright rivers whose steep banks were as fine 
threads of gold. 

At length I came to a stream which ran 
swiftly by its shore. Ah God, how rare its 
beauty Those fair depths lay between ra- 
6 



110-128 

diant banks of bright beryl, and, flowing 
sweetly, the water ran forth on its way with 
a murmuring sound as of many voices. 
At the bottom were glittering stones that 
shimmered and glowed like a flash of light 
through glass ; they were as stars in stream- 
ing splendor that shine in the sky all a win- 
ter's night, while men lie fast asleep. For 
each pebble in those depths was either eme- 
rald, or sapphire, or other precious gem, so 
that the deep pools were all agleam of light, 
so rare was their beauty. The fair glory of 
hill and vale, of wood and water and sweet 
meadows, caused bliss to spring anew within 
me, and, quieting my grief, undid my an- 
guish and healed my pain. Down along that 
stream, as it flowed on in its might, I sped 
in ecstasy that filled my mind brimful ; and 
the farther I followed that watery vale, the 
mightier the joy that urged my heart. For 
7 



129-151 

though fortune fareth whithersoever she 
will, whether she send solace or sorrow, yet 
the man to whom she inclines her favor 
strives hard to win more and more. Happier 
then my lot than I could ever tell, even in 
much space ; for no mortal heart could hold 
a tenth part of the glad rapture of that place. 
Wherefore I thought Paradise lay over 
against those broad-sloping shores, and that 
the waters were but divisions between its 
pleasant places. Over the river, somewhere 
by hill or dale, must stand, I thought, that 
heavenly city. But the water was deep, and 
I dared not wade ; yet ever the more I longed 
to behold it. Yes, more and more I yearned 
to see what lay beyond the stream ; for if the 
place where I walked was fair, how much 
lovelier that farther shore ! All about I stum- 
bled and looked, and tried hard to find a 
fording-place, but the farther I went pick- 
8 



152-172 

ing my way along the shore, the more the 
dangers there about me ; and yet it seemed 
that I could not pause in dismay where joys 
were so alluring. 

Then a strange thing befell me, that 
stirred my mind more deeply still. For 
greater wonder than ever seized me, as I 
saw beyond that pleasant stream a cliff of 
crystal all refulgent, that shot forth many 
a dazzling ray. At its base there sat a child, 
a gentle maiden full debonaire, in raiment 
all gleaming white. I knew her well, for I 
had seen her aforetime. Like glistening gold 
which men cut into fine threads, so shone 
that radiant one at the cliff's base. From 
my distance I gazed at her, and the longer I 
looked, the more came I to know her; and 
still as I searched her fair face, and scanned 
her lovely form, such transporting glory fell 
upon my sense as I had never known. A 
9 



173-191 

glad desire to call her pursued me — but 
confusion dealt my heart a sudden blow ; so 
strange it was to see her in that place, that 
my sense was stricken and wellnigh stunned 
at the sight. 

Then lifted she her fair brow, her face 
white as smooth ivory, and it stung my 
heart with wild dismay ever deeper and 
deeper the longer I gazed. Great fear rose 
within me in spite of myself. I stood utterly 
still, and dared not cry out; with eyes wide 
open and mouth fast shut, I was as quiet 
as hawk in hall. I thought this apparition 
something spectral, and feared what might 
come of it — that she whom I there descried 
might escape before I could call aloud and 
stop her. Then she, the sweetly radiant, 
pure and unspotted, so soft, so slight, so 
fair and winsomely slender — that precious 
one all dight in pearls — arose in her royal 
10 



192-214 

array. Pearls of kingly price might one then 
have seen by God's grace, when, fresh as 
a fleur-de-lis, she stepped forth down the 
shore. All gleaming white was her robe of 
fine linen, open at the sides, and purfled with 
the loveliest margery-pearls, as I guess, that 
I ever beheld; long were her sleeve-laps, I 
wot, and adorned round about with pearls 
in double border. Her kirtle showed beneath 
of the same bright stuff, all set about with 
precious pearls. A rich crown of margery- 
pearls unmingled with gems of any other 
kind this maiden wore; high-pinnacled it 
was, all of clear white pearls wrought in fig- 
ures of flowers. No fillet nor braid she wore 
besides, but the folds of her hair fell loose 
about her. Sober and demure was her face 
— fit for duke or earl; her hue was paler 
than ivory. Her hair glistened like bright 
shorn gold, as it lay loose and light upon 
11 



215-235 

her shoulders. Yet her color was deep, 
wanting not the adornment of the precious 
pearls in broidery all about. Every hem — 
at the wrists, the sides, and the openings — 
was edged and pointed with white pearls 
only, and all her vesture was lustrous white. 
One marvelous pearl without blemish was 
set secure in the midst of her breast; a 
man's mind would be sadly baffled ere he 
could measure the full beauty of that gem. 
No tongue, I think, could utter the sweet 
tale of that vision — so fair, so bright, so 
pure was the precious pearl there set. 

All thus adorned in pearls that dear one 
beyond the stream came down the opposite 
shore. From here to Greece there was no 
happier man than I when she had reached 
the brink ; nearer was she to me than aunt 
or niece, wherefore my joy was greater than 
ever. Then this peerless one made as if to 
12 



236-254 

speak, for, bowing low in sweet womanly 
grace, she lightly caught off her crown 
of rich treasure, and blithely greeted me. 
Happy was I that was born to speak with 
that fair one in her array of pearls ! 

4 O Pearl, all dight in pearls,' said I, 'art 
thou mine own, my Pearl, that I have be- 
wailed and mourned in night and solitude? 
Great yearning have I suffered for thee in 
secret since thou didst slip away from me 
into the grass. Gloomy, wasted, nigh spent 
with pain am I, while thou, unracked with 
strife, hast fallen upon a pleasant life in the 
home-land of Paradise. What fortune has 
brought my jewel hither, and cast me into 
grief and bondage? For, since we were sep- 
arated and torn asunder, I have been but a 
wretched jeweler. ' 

Then that jewel, all arrayed in precious 
gems, lifted her face, raised to me her blue 
13 



255-275 

eyes, set on again her crown of orient pearl, 
and at length said gravely: ' Sir, ill have you 
heeded your own words when you say that 
your Pearl is utterly lost, which is now so 
fair enclosed here in a coffer — I mean this 
garden bright and lovely — here to dwell for 
ever and make merry, where sin and mourn- 
ing draw not nigh. This place were indeed 
a treasury for thee, if thou wert truly a noble 
jeweler. But, gentle sir, if thou must wil- 
fully lose thy joy for a mere gem that was 
dear, methinks thou art given over to mad 
intent, and troublest thyself about a trifle. 
What thou hast lost was only a rose that 
flowered and faded according to its kind; 
but now by nature of the chest that secur- 
eth it, it proveth a pearl of price. If thou 
hast called thy good fortune a thief, which 
manifestly hath made for thee something 
out of thy nothing, then dost thou reproach 
14 






276-294 

the .very remedy of thine ill; thou art no 
grateful jeweler. ' 

A very jewel was then this visitant to me, 
and jewels were her gentle words. 

' Indeed,' said I, ' my dear, blest child, now 
dost thou unravel all my woe. I beseech thee, 
pardon me, for I thought my Pearl was 
gone forth from life. But, now that I have 
found it, I shall make merry, and dwell with 
k in woodlands sheen, praising my Lord 
and his ways, who hath brought me hither 
near unto such bliss. Now, were I only at 
your side, beyond this water, so indeed were 
my joy complete ! ' 

Then answered this pure gem: 'Ah, 
jeweler! Why must thou, and all men, be 
for ever mad? Three words in a breath hast 
thou spoken, and all three of them ill-con- 
sidered ; thou knowest not in the least what 
one of them does mean, and thy tongue doth 
15 



295-313 

outrun thy wit. Thou sayest that thou dost 
think that I dwell here in this vale, because 
forsooth thou canst see me here with thine 
own eyes ; and again, thou sayest that in this 
country thou art to dwell with me, yea, in 
this very place ; and again, that thou shalt 
pass over this water unhindered — a thing 
that no man may lightly do. I hold him 
undeserving who believes only what he sees 
with his eyes; and he indeed is much to 
blame, and wants true courtesy, who thinks 
our Lord falsely uttered his loyal promise to 
raise you up unto life, albeit fate hath com- 
mitted your body unto death. Ye men turn 
his words all awry, and believe nothing 
unless ye see it ; it is a trait of pride ill-be- 
coming every good man, to believe no tale 
trustworthy unless his own poor reason can 
prove it so. Rather judge for thyself whether 
thou hast spoken wisely, considering what 
16 



314-333 

words man ought to offer God. Thou sayest 
thou art to dwell in this domain. Methinks 
it first behooves thee to ask leave ; yet withal 
thou mightest fail to gain it. Thou desirest 
to cross this stream, but, ere that, thou must 
change thy purpose; thy body shall first 
sink all cold into the ground, since it was 
forfeit in the garden of Paradise, in the 
ill-keeping of our father Adam. Through 
dreary death must each man be brought, ere 
God will appoint him to cross this stream.' 
' Alas, then,' said I, ' if thou dost condemn 
me to sorrow again, my sweet, I shall pine 
away. Now that I have found what I had 
lost, must I forego it again, even until I die? 
Why must I find it, if only to lose it straight- 
way? My precious Pearl doth me great pain ! 
What profiteth treasure but to make a man 
weep, if forthwith he must lose it with bitter 
pangs? Nay, then, I care not whether I re- 
17 



334-350 

turn to earth, nor how far thence I am ban- 
ished, if I am to have no part in my Pearl. 
Ah, what may man expect on earth but un- 
ceasing sorrow ! ' 

Then said the maiden : ' So thou lookest 
for naught but agony of grief? Why dost 
thou so? By the clamor of his grief at tri- 
fling losses, many a man oft foregoes the 
greater benefits. It behooves thee better to 
look after thine own welfare, and ever to 
praise God, come weal, come woe; for re- 
sentment profiteth thee not a straw. Let him 
who must needs endure be not so impatient. 
For though thou plunge like a wild doe, and 
toss thy limbs about in frenzy, and utter thy 
rage in shrieks, yet, when thou canst make 
way no farther, to or fro, then must thou 
still abide what he shall decree. The Lord 
shall ordain and dispose all things, for he 
will never turn one foot aside from the way. 
18 



351-368 

Though thou in thy sorrow be never glad 
again, it availeth thee naught. Have done, 
then, with thy strife, cease to contend, and 
seek his compassion with all speed ; haply 
thy prayer will lay hold on his pity, and 
mercy will then show thee her power ; his 
comfort may soothe thy suffering, and drive 
thy lowering looks lightly away. For, in 
failure or in fortune, in grief remembered 
or forgotten, all things abide in him to de- 
cree and ordain.' 

Then said I to the maiden : ' O let not my 
Lord be angry, though in my haste I rave, 
and rush headlong in my talk! My heart 
was all stricken and melted with my loss, like 
water welling up and running forth from a 
spring. But now I give myself up unto his 
tender mercy. Chide me no longer with thy 
dreadful words, my dearly beloved, though 
19 



369-387 

I speak idly, but tender me lovingly thy 
comfort, thinking in pity of this — that thou 
hast made reconciliation between me and 
care — thou who wast erstwhile the root of 
all my joy. My joy, and my grief too, hast 
thou been, wherefore so much the louder 
was my lament. For after thou wast with- 
drawn from every danger of earthly life, I 
knew not whither my Pearl was gone ; and 
now that I see it again, my trouble has 
ceased. If* when we parted, we were of one 
mind, God forbid that we be at odds now, 
since we meet so seldom by stock or stone. 
And though you speak on full courteously, 
I am but dust, and undone with sin. But the 
mercy of Christ and Mary and John — these 
shall be the root of all my joy. 

' 1 behold thee now entered into the life of 
bliss, while I am all dejected and downcast. 
Perhaps of this you take little heed, or of the 
20 



388-408 

burning wrongs that often fall to my lot. But 
now that I am here in your very presence, I 
would cease from dispute, and beseech you 
to tell me willingly and earnestly what sort 
of life ye lead early and late. For I am full 
glad that your estate is indeed changed to one 
of worship and good fortune ; it is the high- 
road of all my joy, the root of all my peace. ' 
' Now joy betide thee, sir,' then said she 
so fair of face and form ; ' and welcome here 
both to rest and roam, for now are thy words 
precious to me. Masterful heart and over- 
weening pride, I assure thee, are bitterly 
hated here ; yet my Lord loveth not to chide 
in anger, for meek are all they that dwell 
near him. And when thou shalt appear in 
his holy place, be thou deep-devout in all 
humility ; for my Lord the Lamb still loveth 
such demeanor, and he is the root of all my 

j°y- 

21 



409-429 

'A joyous life I lead, thou sayest true, 
and wouldst learn the station thereof. Thou 
knowest well that when thy Pearl fell away 
from thee I was yet very young and of ten- 
der years. Yet my Lord the Lamb by his 
divine nature took me in marriage, and 
crowned me his queen, to dwell in bliss 
throughout the length of all days to come. 
Moreover I am his love, established in his 
full heritage, and am his and his alone. His 
worth, his excellence, his high lineage, are 
root and ground of all my joy . ' 

'Ah blessed,' said I, 'if this be true, be 
not angry, though the question I ask thee 
be foolish and wrong. Art thou that queen 
of blue heaven to whom all this world shall 
do honor? We believe in Mary, Author of 
Grace, who in maiden innocence bore a child. 
What queen could take away her crown 
from her, unless she passed her in good- 
22 



430-448 

liness? Nay, for that her sweetness is be- 
yond all compare, we call her Phoenix of 
Araby, that bird of blameless fashion, like 
the Queen of Courtesy. ' 

Then knelt the radiant one upon the 
ground, and covered her face with the folds 
of her garment, and prayed, saying : ' Hail 
gracious Queen peerless Mother, all-glorious 
Maiden, blessed Well-spring of every grace ! ' 

Then she arose, and paused, and, after a 
space, said tome:' Sir, many there are who 
gain possessions here, and hold them fast, 
but usurpers are there none in this place; the 
Empress Mary holdeth all heaven and earth 
and hell in her dominion, yet no one doth 
she drive forth from his heritage, for she is 
the Queen of Courtesy. The court of the 
kingdom of the ever-living God hath of its 
very essence this property: each one that 
entereth therein is king or queen of the whole 
23 



449-468 

realm, nor shall any other dispossess such 
an one, but each rejoiceth in the other's 
possession, and would that her comrade's 
crown were fivefold as rich, if such increase 
were possible. But my Lady, of whom Jesus 
was born, beareth rule full high above us 
all ; yet that offendeth none of our company, 
for she is the Queen of Courtesy. By the 
Spirit of true courtesy, saith Saint Paul, we 
are all members of Jesus Christ ; as head, 
and leg, and arm, and nail, are all attached 
to their proper body, faithful and true, so in 
like manner is every Christian soul a proper 
limb of the Master of Might. Therefore see 
whether rancor or bitterness is fixed or 
seated between thy members ; thy head har- 
boreth not anger and resentment, though 
arm or finger wear a ring; and with like 
courtesy do we all bear ourselves in love and 
joy towards king and queen among us.' 
24 



469-489 

' Yea,' said I, ' I believe that courtesy and 
all charitableness prevail among you ; but, 
lest my words grieve you. . . . [If] thou ex- 
altest thyself to heaven to become a queen 
— thou who wert so young — what greater 
honor can he achieve who has continued 
faithful and strong in the world, and lived 
in lifelong penance to purchase heavenly 
bliss with torment of the flesh? What 
greater worship could such an one attain 
than to be crowned a king by courtesy? 
This courtesy of which you speak is too 
large of deed, if that be true which thou hast 
said. Thou livedst not two years among our 
folk on earth. Thou never knewest then how 
to please God by deed or prayer, by Pater 
Noster or Creed. And crowned a queen on 
the first day after ! God help me, but I can- 
not believe that he would turn aside so far 
from the right. Indeed, dear maiden, the es- 
25 



490-511 

tate of a countess you might fairly hold in 
heaven, or at least of a lady of less array ; 
but a queen — nay, that is too much ! ' 

Then said to me that adorable one : ' Of 
his goodness there is no end. For all is jus- 
tice which he ordereth, and he can do naught 
but right, as saith Saint Matthew in the 
Mass, in the true Gospel of Almighty God. 
In a parable he frameth an image true and 
exact, and likens it to bright heaven. "My 
kingdom on high," he saith, "is like unto 
a lord who had a vineyard. The end of the 
year was at hand, and it was hard upon the 
time to prepare the vineyard for winter. 
Now all laborers know full well that time 
of year. The lord rose early to hire laborers 
into his vineyard, and among them found 
some suited to his purpose. They enter into 
agreement for a penny a day, and go forth, 
and bend to their work, and travail sore ; 
26 



512-528 

they prune, and bind, and make everything 
snug. 

' ' ' About the third hour the lord goeth 
into the market, and findeth idle men stand- 
ing there, and saith unto them : ' Why stand 
ye idle? Know ye not that this day must 
end?' 

' ' ' And they answered with one ac- 
cord, murmuring: 'Ere the dawn came we 
hither, here have we stood since the sun 
rose, and yet no man hath commanded us 
to work.' 

Go into my vineyard, and do what 
ye can,' said the lord, and made good his 
command, saying, ' Whatsoever reasonable 
hire be earned by nightfall I will pay you in 
good faith.' 

They went into his vineyard and 
wrought, and all day the lord went his way, 
bringing new men thither. At length this 
27 



529-548 

long-awaited day of toil was far spent. The 
time of evensong was come, an hour before 
sunset, and still he found strong men yet 
idle ; and he said to them gravely : ' Why 
stand ye idle this whole day long? ' 

i ' ' They said that wages nowhere awaited 
their toil. 

""Then go into my vineyard, young 
yeomen ; there labor and do what ye can. ' 

' ' ' Soon all the world grew brown and 
dark ; the sun had gone down and it waxed 
late. Then bade he summon the workmen, 
for the day was past. The lord was mindful 
of the eventide, and called to his reeve, say- 
ing: * Sirrah, now pay the servants; give 
them the wages I owe them. And further, 
that none may complain, set them all in a 
row, and give to all alike a penny. Begin 
with the last and lowest, until thou come to 
the first.' 

28 



549-568 

' ' ' Then the first began to murmur, and 
say that they had travailed sore. 'These,' 
said they, ' toiled but an hour; it seems right, 
then, that we should receive more. We think 
that we who have borne the heat of the day 
have done greater service than those who 
wrought not even two hours, and yet thou 
dost make them equal unto us.' 

' "Then said the lord to one of them: 
' Friend, I would not have thee lose aught 
by me. Take what is thine, and go thy way. 
If I hired thee at a penny for the whole day's 
work, why dost thou begin now to com- 
plain? Was not thy covenant made for a 
penny? Thou mayest plead for nothing be- 
yond the covenant. Then why wilt thou ask 
for more? Is it not my lawful privilege to do 
whatsoever I will with mine own? Else is 
thine eye bent on evil, but I am good and 
defraud no man. " ' 

29 



569-586 

l And Christ saith: "So will I appoint 
each man his portion — he that is last shall 
be the first to eater, and the first shall be last, 
be he never so swift of foot. Many are called, 
though few be chosen unto the high places. 
Thus each poor man beareth away his just 
portion, though he hath come late, and is of 
low degree." And, though his labor cease 
with littie done, yet far more than his labor 
availeth the mercy of God. Wherefore I 
have here more joy and bliss and ladyship 
and abundance of life than all men in the 
world could win, if they sought payment 
according to their works. Yet I have hardly 
begun my labor, and it was already eventide 
when I entered into the vineyard ; neverthe- 
less my Lord at once took thought of my 
hire, and I was forthwith paid in full. But 
there were others who had labored longer, 
who toiled and sweat long ere I began, but 
30 



587-602 

who have not yet got a tithe of their hire, 
nor will they perhaps for a year to come. ' l 

Then in all frankness I said : * To me thy 
tale seems unreasonable. God's justice is 
ever ready and alert, else Holy Writ is but a 
fable. In the Psalter is a versicle that clearly 
and openly declareth this truth : "Thou ren- 
derest to every man according to his desert, 
O high and all-disposing King." But if 
thou, my child, come to thy reward before 
him who abode steadfast the whole day 
long, then he who hath done the less work 
may win the greater reward, which means 
that the less work a man does, the greater 
his pay.' 2 

Then answered that gentle one : ' Of less 
and more in God's kingdom there is no 

1 That is, who are older than I, and are still living on 
earth. 

2 A reductio ad absurdum, showing the poet's scho- 
lastic training. 

31 



603-620 

hazard, for there every man is paid alike, 
whether little or much seem his reward. Our 
gentle Liege is no churl. Whether his deal- 
ings be harsh or tender, he poureth out 
gifts as lavishly as water runs from a moat, 
or streams from a deep and never-failing 
pool. Large is that man's exemption who 
hath ever continued in fear before him that 
giveth succor in the hour of temptation and 
sin ; no joy shall be withheld from such an 
one, for the grace of God is sufficient there- 
unto. 

' But now thou wilt checkmate me by urg- 
ing that I have here received my penny un- 
justly. Thou sayest that I am come too late, 
and am not worthy of so great a reward. 
Where hast thou ever known a man who 
abode at all times so holy in his prayer, that 
he forfeited not in some way, at some time, 
the guerdon of bright heaven? And still the 
32 



621-641 

older such men grew, the oftener did they 
forsake the right, and do wrong. Then are 
mercy and grace become their only guides, 
for the grace of God is sufficient thereunto. 
But grace enough, without works, have the 
innocent. As soon as they are born, they de- 
scend at once into the water of baptism, and 
then are led into the vineyard. Anon the day, 
shot through with darkness, boweth before 
the power of Death. The gentle Lord then 
payeth his laborers who did no wrong ere 
they went forth from his vineyard. Long 
have they abode there, and done his bidding; 
why should he not give them their labor's 
due, and grant them their pay in the very 
hour of their passing? For his grace is suf- 
ficient thereunto. We know full well that all 
mankind was first fashioned for a life of per- 
fect bliss, but our forefather forfeited it by 
the apple of which he ate, and in that eating 
33 



642-660 

we were condemned to die in wretchedness 
and banishment from bliss, and at length to 
pass into the heat of hell, there to abide with- 
out respite. But straightway there interposed 
a healing remedy, for in that plight fair 
streams of blood and water ran plenteously 
down the rough cross, and God's grace was 
sufficient. Abounding rose the tide of blood 
and water from out the well of that great 
wound ; the blood redeemed us from the bale 
of hell, and delivered us from the second 
death; and truly the water which followed 
the sword with cruel edge is baptism, and 
washeth away the fell guilt that Adam 
brought upon us when he drowned us in 
death. Now between us and bliss there is 
no barrier in the round world which he hath 
not withdrawn, and no access thereunto 
which he hath not restored in blessed hour ; 
whereunto God's grace is sufficient. He who 
34 



661-681 

hath sinned again may find grace enough, 
if he truly repent, but he must crave such 
grace with sorrow and contrition, and suffer 
the penalty that goeth with true remorse. 
But he that is wholly innocent shall be saved 
by the justice of God that never can err. It 
was never God's decree that the guiltless 
should perish. The guilty man may indeed 
attain contrition, and through mercy be 
brought speedily unto grace; but he who 
never turned aside unto wickedness, and is 
in all things innocent — he is justly saved. 

1 This one thing in truth I know of this 
matter — it is meet and right that both or- 
ders of men be saved : the penitent-righteous 
man shall see his face, and the innocent also 
shall come unto him. Thus saith the Psalter 
in one place : "Lord, who shall ascend into 
thy high hill, or stand in thy holy place?" 
Nor is God slow to answer : ' ' He that work- 
35 



682-699 

eth not evil with his hands, that is both pure 
and clean of heart, there shall his foot be 
established for ever." In justice shall the 
innocent be saved. 

'But the righteous penitent shall also 
draw near unto that fair mansion — he that 
taketh not his life in vain, nor flattereth his 
neighbor deceitfully. Of the man who is 
thus righteous Solomon speaketh plainly, 
declaring how gently our King received 
him, and led his feet in the ways that are 
straight, and showed him the kingdom of 
God for a little space, as who would say : 
' ' Lo yon fair realm ! Thou mayest win it for 
thine own, if thou be brave." But without 
fear or danger of falsehood I say, in justice 
ever shall the innocent be saved. 

' Of righteous men speaketh yet another 
— David in the Psalter, if haply ye have 
seen his words : ' ' Lord, draw not thy servant 
36 



700-718 

unto judgment, for in thy sight shall no man 
living be justified." Wherefore, when thou 
shalt come before that bar where all our 
causes shall be tried, urge in thy defense thy 
right of being received by these very words 
that I have cited. But he that died the bloody 
death on the cross, with hands grievously 
pierced, grant that, when thou come to trial, 
thou be acquitted by innocence, and not by 
pleading. 

4 Let him who can read aright consider 
the Holy Book, and learn how Jesus walked 
among people of old, and how men eagerly 
brought their little ones unto him. With fair 
words they besought him to touch their chil- 
dren for the health and happiness that went 
forth from him. Impatiently his disciples 
charged them to let him be, and many were 
kept back with their chiding. Then Jesus 
said sweetly: "Nay, suffer the children to 
37 



719-739 

come unto me, since for such is prepared the 
Kingdom of Heaven." Thus ever injustice 
shall the innocent be saved. Then Jesus 
called unto him a gentle child, and said 
no man could win his kingdom unless he 
should come thither as such an one ; else let 
him never enter therein. Innocent, true, un- 
defined, without spot or stain of polluting sin 
— when such knock at the door, quickly 
shall the bolt be drawn. Therein is bliss that 
shall never end — such as the merchant 
sought among goodly pearls, when he sold 
all that he had, both wool and linen, to buy 
himself a pearl without spot. " This spot- 
less pearl which the merchant bought with 
a great price — nay, with all his goods — is 
like unto the Kingdom of bright Heaven " 
— so spake the Father of earth and sea ; for 
it is stainless pure and bright, and one per- 
fect round, and glad of heart, and common 
38 



740-758 

to all the righteous. Lo, even in the centre 
of my breast it abideth! My Lord, the 
Lamb, who spent his blood, hath put it 
there in token of peace. I rede thee, forsake 
the mad world, and get for thyself this spot- 
less pearl.' 

'Ah Pearl so pure,' said I, 'arrayed in 
fair pearls, wearing the pearl of great price, 
who fashioned thy fair figure? Full skil- 
ful was he that wrought thy vesture. Thy 
beauty is not the mere gift of Nature ; from 
Pygmalion came not thy bright color, nor 
did Aristotle in all his books describe the 
true quality of these thy attributes. Thy 
color passes the fleur-de-lis ; thy demeanor 
as of angels is so pure and gracious — ah, 
tell me, bright creature, what station is held 
by Pearl so rare?' 

Then said she: 'My Lamb without 
blemish, who excelleth all others, he, my 
39 



759-777 

dear Destiny, chose me for his mate, un- 
worthy as I was ; a fitting time was set for 
that union — the day when I departed from 
your world of tears. He called me to share 
his gentle condition, saying: "Come unto 
me, my sweet love, for in thee is neither 
spot nor stain." Then he clothed me in 
strength and beauty, and washed my robes 
in his blood, setting me in the place of 
honor, and crowned me in pure virginity, 
and arrayed me in spotless pearls.' 

c Nay,' said I, 'thou spotless bride flam- 
ing with light, clothed in royalty so rich and 
free, of what nature is the Lamb that he 
would take thee to his wife ? Hast thou in 
truth mounted so high above all the rest to 
live with him a life of such ladyship? So 
many a fair one there is, the world over, that 
hath endured long struggle for Christ ; and 
if thou didst thrust out all those dear ones, 
40 



778-797 

and put down all others from that marriage, 
save only thyself so strong and firm, then 
art thou not immaculate only, but match- 
less.' 

Then said that lovely queen: 'Immac- 
ulate, unblemished, and unspotted am I 
indeed, and so may I aver in all seemliness; 
but I said not ''matchless queen." We in 
bliss are brides of the Lamb — one hundred 
and forty [and four] thousand in all, as it 
is written in the Apocalypse. Saint John saw 
them all in a company on the Mount of 
Sion, that fair height; the Apostle beheld 
them in ghostly vision arrayed unto the 
marriage, upon that hill which is the new 
city of Jerusalem. Of this Jerusalem I now 
come to speak. If thou wilt know his true 
nature — my Lamb, my Lord, my precious 
Jewel, my Joy, my Bliss, my fair Loved 
One — hear what the prophet Isaiah spake 
41 



798-817 

of him, in pity at his sweet submission: 
' ' This glorious Innocent that was slain of 
men, without taint of sin, was brought as a 
sheep to the slaughter; and, as a lamb which 
the shearer taketh in the field, so closed he 
his mouth at every question, when the Jews 
tried him in Jerusalem." 

' In Jerusalem was my Love slain and torn 
by shameless ruffians. Full willing was he 
to bear our sorrows, and he hath taken upon 
himself our bitter griefs. With buffets was 
his face all flayed, that had been so fair to 
look upon. For our sin he set himself at 
naught — he who had no sin that he could 
call his own. For us he suffered himself to 
be flayed, and bowed down, and stretched 
upon the brutal cross, as meek as a lamb 
that uttereth no plaint. For us he died in 
Jerusalem. And when the good Saint John 
was baptizing at Jerusalem, in Jordan, and 
42 



818-839 

in Galilee, his words accorded with Isaiah ; 
for when Jesus drew near unto him he 
spake of him this prophecy: "Behold the 
Lamb of God, unchanging as the rock, that 
taketh away the burden of sins which all 
men have heaped upon themselves. As for 
him, not one hath he wrought, yet upon 
himself he hath taken them all. Who shall 
declare his generation that died for us in 
Jerusalem?" 

' Thus at Jerusalem, by true witness of 
either prophet, my sweet Loved One was 
twice likened to a Lamb in lowliness of mind 
and manner. The third time also is duly set 
down full clear in the Apocalypse. In the 
midst of the throne, where the saints were 
sitting, the Apostle John beheld him all un- 
veiled, opening the book with great square 
leaves, where the seven seals were set in 
order ; and at that sight every creature in 
43 



840-855 

heaven, 1 in earth, and in hell, trembled with 
fear. This Lamb of Jerusalem was without 
sin or blemish; his only hue was shining 
white, admitting neither spot nor stain, and 
he was clothed in white wool rich and 
flowing. 

'Wherefore each soul that never knew 
the taint of sin is an adorable wife unto the 
Lamb. And though each day he fetcheth 
hither a great number, yet there entereth 
among us no rivalry nor strife, except that 
we would that each one of our comrades 
were five; the more the merrier, by the bless- 
ing of God. Our love is one that doth thrive 
in a great company, where honor grows 
from more to more. Decrease of joy can no 
one bring upon us who wear this pearl upon 
our breasts, for they that bear the device of 

1 The poet says 'Jerusalem,' that is, the New Jerusalem 
or heaven; see Rev. 5.13. 

44 



856-873 

spotless pearls can utter no impure thing. 
Though our bodies shrivel among clods of 
clay, and though ye without rest cry out for 
sorrow, yet we have perfect knowledge in 
all things. Our dread of the bodily death 
hath been realized ; the Lamb now maketh 
us to rejoice, our care is done away, he ever 
filleth our hearts with mirth at the heavenly 
mass, each one's joy is perfect to the utter- 
most, and no one's honor shall ever grow 
less. 

'But lest thou find my tale unseemly, 
thus is it written in a place in the Apoca- 
lypse: "I saw," saith John, "the Lamb 
standing on Mount Sion in the fullness of 
his strength, and with him were one hun- 
dred and forty and four thousand virgins. 
And in their foreheads I beheld written the 
name of the Lamb, and of his Father. And 
I heard then a voice from heaven like the 
45 



. 874-893 

voice of many waters rushing in a mighty 
torrent; and, as thunder leaps among the 
darkened tors, such, I ween, was this 
sound of mingled voices. And though the 
sound was sharp and loud, yet could I hear 
them singing a melody new and strange, 
and deliciously sweet it was to hearken 
thereto. As the voice of harpers harping 
with their harps, full clear was the new song 
that they sang ; a sweet discourse of sound- 
ing notes it was, as they took up the strains, 
singing together in pure concent. Right be- 
fore the throne of God, and the four beasts 
that bow down unto him, and the elders so 
grave of mien, they sang their song unceas- 
ingly. Yet there was never a man of such 
skill, for all the arts that he ever knew, that 
could sing one note of that song, except this 
company that folio weth the Lamb. For they 
are redeemed and far removed from the 
46 



894-914 

earth, being the first fruits appointed unto 
the gentle Lamb, and like unto him in the 
light of their countenances; since naught 
that they have suffered hath defiled their 
tongues with falsehood or deceit." Nor can 
that pure company be removed from its im- 
maculate Lord even for ever.' 

Then said I : ' Bear with my inquiry yet 
a little while. Though I confront thee with 
many questions, I ought not to tempt thy 
true understanding who art elect unto 
Christ's bridechamber. I am the while but 
dust and muck, and thou a rose all fresh and 
fair, dwelling here by this blessed hill where 
the joy of life is unfailing. Yet, gracious 
maiden, in whom simplicity abideth, I 
would expressly ask of thee one thing ; and, 
though I be as hasty as fire, nevertheless let 
my prayer avail; bold and sincere is my 
appeal, if haply thou seest a way to grant 
47 



915-934 

what I ask ; and, as thou art filled with glory 
and free from corruption, withhold not this 
boon from me in my sorrow. Have ye no 
dwellings enclosed in castle- walls, no manor 
where ye may assemble and live together? 
Thou tellest me of Jerusalem rich and royal, 
where David, the beloved one, was upon his 
throne; yet not among these woods may 
that fair city stand, but in Judea. And since 
ye are in all things pure, so must your 
dwelling-places be likewise without taint. 
This spotless company of which thou hast 
spoken, this throng of thousands, is so vast 
a multitude, that ye must needs possess a 
large city, for great is your number. Evil it 
were if so fair a crowd of bright jewels must 
lodge without its walls. If I see no building 
hereabouts, as I tarry among these hills, 
then I think ye must dwell alone and apart, 
as ye gaze upon the glory of this lovely 
48 



935-954 

stream. But if elsewhere thou hast strong 
mansions, bring me now to that bright cit- 
adel.' 

Then said this rare creature unto me: 
' That city of Judea that thou hast in mind 
is the city that the Lamb did seek wherein 
to suffer for man's sake. It is the old Je- 
rusalem, for there the old guilt was done 
away. But the new city that hath come 
down to us of God's own sending — that is 
the theme of the Apostle in the Apocalypse. 
The Lamb, pure from every defiling spot, 
hath conveyed thither his fair company. 
And, as his flock needeth not earthly pin- 
fold, so his city is without confine of earthly 
moat. To speak exactly of these two cities, if 
both are alike called Jerusalem, that name 
should mean to you no more than City of 
God, or Vision of Peace. In the one our peace 
was made perfect, for there the Lamb chose 
49 



955-972 

to suffer in penal agony for us. In the other, 
peace, and peace alone, is to be found, 
which shall endure unbroken for ever. That 
is the city to which we press forward from 
the day that our flesh is laid down to decay. 
There shall glory and bliss increase ever for 
the company of them that are without 
stain.' 

Then said I to that lovely flower: ' Ah, 
maiden pure, so meek and mild, bring me 
now to that pleasant abode. ' 

But she, so radiant, replied: 'Nay, for 
God will not suffer it. Thou may est not 
enter into his stronghold; but from the 
Lamb, through his great loving-kindness, I 
have won for thee a glimpse thereof. Thou 
mayest behold that fair enclosure from with- 
out, but not one foot within its walls mayest 
thou go. Nay, thou couldst not walk in its 
streets, unless thou wert wholly pure. If I am 
50 



973-992 

to reveal to thee this city, take now thy way 
up toward this river's head, and I shall fol- 
low along with thee on this side, till thou 
gain a certain hill.' 

Then would I tarry no longer, but stole 
away among leafy, pleasant boughs, till I 
spied a hill, and, as I hurried on, looked out 
upon the city beyond the river, revealed at 
a distance, shining with rays brighter than 
the sun. In the Apocalypse is shown its 
fashion, as there described by John the 
Apostle. And as John beheld it with his 
own eyes, in like manner saw I that city of 
renown — Jerusalem so new, so royally ar- 
rayed, as it was descended out of heaven. 

The city was all of fine gold, bright, bur- 
nished, and radiant, like clear shining glass, 
and garnished beneath with precious gems. 
In twelve steps up from the lowest base rose 

51 



993-1016 

twelve foundations of rich jointure, and 
each tier was a separate stone. Thus splen- 
didly doth John the Apostle describe this 
very city in the book of his Vision. As he 
there doth name these stones, so knew I 
their names after his tale: jasper was the 
name of the first that I discerned on the first 
stage; it shone all green along the lowest 
course ; sapphire filled the second step ; then 
chalcedony without blemish shone pure and 
pale in the third ; the fourth was emerald all 
green; the fifth, sardonyx; then the ruby 
hath the Apostle named sixth in order. 
Thereto he added the chrysolite as the sev- 
enth in the foundation; and the eighth, 
beryl, clear and white ; the ninth, topaz 
of twofold hue inlaid; tenth in order, the 
chrysoprase; the eleventh is the precious 
jacinth; the twelfth, the most precious of 
all, is the purple amethyst blent with inde. 

52 



1017-1036 

Above these courses overhung the wall of 
jasper clear as glass; I knew it by John's 
story in the Apocalypse. 

Still more did I see, as he hath set it forth. 
These twelve steps were broad yet steep, 
and above them stood the city, a perfect 
square — in length, breadth, and height, all 
fair and equal. The streets of gold were as 
transparent glass ; the jasper walls gleamed 
like amber ; the houses within were adorned 
with all kinds of precious stones that could 
be brought together. And each side of this 
city stretched the space of twelve furlongs 
ere it ended, in height, and length, and 
breadth, just equal, for the Apostle saw it 
measured. 

Yet more did I see of what John hath 

written. Each side of the city had three 

gates, and thus I beheld twelve in order, the 

portals o'erlaid with rich plates ; and each 

53 



1037-1058 

gate of a single margery-pearl that fadeth 
never. Each one bore a name in writing, 
which are the names of the children of Israel 
in the order of their birth, beginning with 
oldest. 

Such light shone in all the streets that 
they had no need of the sun, neither of the 
moon. Sun nor moon wanted they; for surely 
the very God was their bright lamp, and the 
Lamb was their lantern, and through him 
the whole city was filled with brightness. 
Over wall and dwelling ran my eyes, for air 
so subtle and clear could bar no light. The 
high throne one might there behold sur- 
rounded with all the array declared in the 
words of John ; and the high God himself 
was seated thereon. Forth out of the throne 
there ran a river brighter than sun or moon. 
Neither of these ever shone with light so 
sweet as did that abounding flood, where it 
54 



1059-1078 

gushed forth from the ground. Swift did it 
run on through every street, without any min- 
gling of filth, or pollution, or slime. Church, 
nor chapel, nor temple was ever set in that 
place, but the Almighty was their proper 
sanctuary, in which is still made anew the 
sacrifice of the Lamb. The gates of the city 
were never shut, but stood always open to- 
ward every quarter. Therein entereth none 
to take refuge who beareth any taint what- 
soever. The moon could never share that 
glory ; too spotty is her globe, too grim her 
favor; and since there is no night there, 
what need that the moon climb thither in 
her course, or try to equal that supernal 
light that shineth upon the river's brink? 
The planets are in too poor a plight, and the 
very sun himself is far too dim. On either 
side of the water are trees all bright that bear 
the twelve fruits of life full early ; and twelve 

55 



1079-1100 

times a year do they bring forth in their 
vigor, and renew their fruit each month. 

No heart of mortal man beneath the 
moon could endure so great a marvel as 
I beheld when I gazed upon that city, so 
wondrous was its fashion. I stood as still as 
a frightened quail at that strange and radi- 
ant apparition; of neither rest nor travail 
was I aware, so ravished was I with its pure 
gleam. For I dare say in all surety that, if one 
in the body had met that boon, though all 
the learned men in the world had him in 
cure, his life had been lost for ever. 

And as the moon doth rise in mighty 
splendor, ere the last day-gleam hath sunk 
with the sun, so in wondrous manner I was 
suddenly aware of a procession. This noble 
city of glory and splendor was presently 
filled with virgins all unsummoned, in the 
same guise as was my blessed one that wore 
56 



1101-1121 

the crown; so crowned were they all alike 
and appareled in pearls and robes of white ; 
and in each one's breast fair bound was the 
blessed pearl in great beauty. Joyfully they 
walked together on the golden streets that 
shone as glass; hundreds of thousands I 
thought there were, and all alike in their liv- 
eries. Hard was it to find the gladdest face 
among them. Before them walked the Lamb 
in state, having seven horns of bright red 
gold ; like pearls of great price was his rai- 
ment. Toward the throne they took their 
way. And, though great was their number, 
there was no crowding among them, but 
mild as gentle maidens at mass, so walked 
they forth in perfect joy. 

The joy that awoke at the Lamb's forth- 
coming was too great to tell. The elders, as 
he drew near, fell prostrate at his feet. Le- 
gions of angels, assembled there, scattered 
57 



1122-1141 

incense of sweet savor. Then the sounds of 
praise and joy burst forth anew : all sang 
together in honor of that bright Jewel ; and 
the sound of voices which the angels of 
heaven then uttered in their joy could have 
struck down through earth into hell. Then 
in sooth I conceived a great and glad desire 
to praise the Lamb there in the midst of his 
train, and delight filled my heart to tell of 
him and his marvelous guise. Best was he, 
and blithest, and worthiest of all that ever I 
heard praised — so adorably white his rai- 
ment, so simple his look, himself so gentle. 
But a wound full wide and wet with blood 
appeared close against his heart, torn 
through his skin; and from his fair side 
gushed his blood. Alas! thought I, who 
wrought that mischief? What heart that 
grief would not have burnt out, ere it had 
found delight therein? Yet could no one 

58 



1142-1159 

doubt the Lamb's joy. For though he was 
hurt and wounded, it appeared not in his 
countenance, so full of light and gladness 
and glory were his eyes. 

I looked among his bright company, and 
saw how abounding and filled they were 
with eternal life. Then I found there my 
little queen that I thought had stood near me 
in the valley. Ah God, with many a sweet 
sound did she make merry, so white among 
her peers ! The sight of her made me think 
in my ecstasy of wading the stream for my 
love's desire. Delight filled eye and ear, and 
my mortal mind dissolved in madness. 
When I saw my wondrous child, I yearned 
to be there with her, though she was with- 
held from me beyond the water. I thought 
nothing could hurt me by striking me a 
blow and laming me. If no one could prevent 
my plunging into the stream, I hoped to 
59 



1160-1177 

swim the interval in safety, though I should 
die for it at last. 

But from that sudden purpose I was 
shaken, for when in my perversity, I would 
have started forward into the water, back 
was I called from my intent — it was not 
my Prince's will. It pleased him not that 
I rushed headlong over these wondrous 
marches in so mad a plight. Though I was 
rash and rude in my haste, yet quickly was 
I stayed therein; for, as I hurried to the 
brink, the start roused me from my dream. 

Then I awoke in that pleasant arbor, and 
my head was still laid upon the very hillock 
where my Pearl had slipped from me into 
the ground. And, as I stretched myself, I 
became dazed with a great fear; and anon 
with a deep sigh I said : ' Now let all things 
be according to the Prince's pleasure. ' I was 
ill pleased to be thrust out so suddenly from 
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1178-1196 

that beauteous region, with all its sights 
vivid and fair; a heavy longing struck me 
down into a swoon ; and thereafter I cried 
out ruefully : ' O Pearl of rich renown, dear 
to me is all that thou hast told in this true 
vision. If it be a right and true report that 
thou farest thus in a bright garland, then it 
is well with me also here in this dungeon of 
sorrow to know that thou art dwelling in the 
Prince's favor.' 

Had I always yielded to the Prince's 
pleasure, and yearned for no more than was 
given me, and kept myself in true intent as 
the Pearl besought me, she that is now so 
happy — had I been rather drawn to God's 
presence than forced my way — then into 
more of his mysteries I should have been 
led. But a man would always seize greater 
fortune than rightfully belongeth to him. 
61 



1197-1212 

Wherefore my joy was soon torn asunder, 
and I was cast out from that country that 
endureth for ever. Ah God, mad are they 
that strive against thee, or try to resist thy 
will! 

To please the Prince and be at peace with 
him is full easy for the good Christian. I 
have found him, day and night, a God, a 
Lord, a true Friend. Such as I have now 
told was the fortune that befell me at this 
mound, bowed in grief for my Pearl; and 
straightway I gave her up unto God in 
Christ's dear blessing and mine own — he 
whom in the form of bread and wine the 
priest showeth unto us each day. And now 
may Christ our Prince grant that we become 
servants of his own household, and precious 
pearls to delight him ever. Amen. 



CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S • A 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





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